


Sweet

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 10:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Jackson comes home to find April wearing a Harvard t-shirt of his, and the rest of the night goes from there. A cute, hot and fluffy one-shot request set in the happy marriage bubble that I wish we could've lived in forever.





	Sweet

I had the worst day. I lost a patient that I swear I could’ve saved, I got reamed by the Chief, and I got stuck working in the clinic. To top it all off, my phone died, I lost my wallet, and I got stuck in traffic on the way home. 

When I pull up in the driveway, I park the car and rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I’ve never been more grateful to be home. Even better, the lights are on inside, which means that April is already here. 

I drop my briefcase by the door and hang my keys on the hooks decorated with birds that she watched me hammer in the wall just last night. I’d put up a fake fight in using them, but I don’t have the energy right now to deny their usefulness. 

I let out a long breath as I kick off my shoes. When I come around the corner, I hear music coming from the kitchen and a little voice singing along with it. 

I can’t help but smile when I see my wife. With her hair tied up in a messy bun and a spatula in hand, April is wearing one of my Harvard t-shirts and a pair of navy blue underwear. The shirt is baggy and oversized on her, and it fans out around her torso when she spins around to throw something in the trash. 

She catches me smiling in the entryway when she flips back. “Honey!” she says, her voice warm and welcoming. She sets the spatula down and sticks her finger in the sauce that’s simmering so she can taste it. “You’re home.” 

“Finally,” I say, trudging over to give her a quick kiss on the lips. “Hey, babydoll.” 

“Bad day?” she asks, lingering by the stove top. “Here, taste. This’ll make it better.” She dips her finger in the sauce again and offers it to me, and I close my lips around it. 

The sauce does taste good. Really good. “Delicious,” I say, and wrap my arms around her to plant my hands on her ass. “But you in this outfit is even more delicious.” 

She giggles, batting her eyelashes as she gently swats my chest. “I’m doing laundry,” she says. “This was the only thing clean I could put on.” 

“Only thing better than you in my shirt is you in nothing,” I say, squeezing her. I kiss her cheek. “And to answer your question, yes. My day was horrible. But I can’t complain now.” 

“You can, if you want,” she says, turning back to check on dinner. “I’ll listen.”

“Nah,” I say, shedding my jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. “I just wanna forget about it.” 

“You sure?” she asks, hair bun bobbing as she lifts her head. 

I smile. “Yes,” I say. “But you’re sweet to offer.” 

“Sweet is what I do,” she says. “Sweet’s my middle name.” 

“April Sweet Kepner,” I say, tapping my chin. “Hmm. Always thought it was Elise.”

She shrugs, playing along. “You need to start paying attention, I guess,” she says, giggling. 

I match her smile and walk to the other side of the counter again. I wrap my arms around her waist from behind and kiss her neck, nibbling on small bits of skin until she squeals, like she always does. 

“I pay attention,” I say. “I know you.” 

She turns her head to look at me, and I kiss her lips - long and slow. “Better than anyone,” she finishes. 

I stay behind her as she continues to cook, skimming my hands underneath the shirt to rest on her bare waist. My hands get comfortable as she sways to the music, unbothered by my proximity, and I smile to myself because of it. Having her as my wife is such a treat, all the time. There’s not a thing she does that gets on my nerves, and even though I live to annoy her, I don’t have the urge right now. 

I press my nose to the back of her hair and breathe her in. I smell rosemary and mint, the new shampoo she splurged on after plenty of convincing from me. I told her that there’s no reason she has to use crappy Herbal Essences when we have enough money for the fancy salon stuff. It’s one of the few things she’ll treat herself to. 

“Will you chop up some onions, baby?” she asks.

I groan and let my forehead drop to her shoulder.

She knows I hate chopping up onions. It’s horrible for my sinuses; the smell drives me crazy. 

“I know you waited ‘til I got home…” I grumble. 

She reaches up and touches the side of my head. “How ‘bout if you do it, I’ll flash you.” 

I straighten up instantly, and she laughs while rolling her eyes.

“I’m nothing if not predictable,” I say, grabbing the cutting board from where it hangs. “Deal.” I pull an onion from the fridge and pick a knife, then look at her expectantly, eyebrows raised.

“Five seconds,” she says. 

“Five?!” I exclaim. “Ten, and I’ll do the whole onion.” 

“No way,” she says. “Ten’s way too long. Ten’s awkward! Plus, I don’t need the whole thing.” 

I sigh. “Fine,” I say. “Five.”

She gathers the hem of my shirt in her hands and lifts it up to expose her braless chest, and I drink in the sight of her. “Mm, mmm, mm,” I say, shaking my head. I set my knife down and walk over, wrapping my arms around her waist again as she lowers the shirt. “Is it cold in here, or are you just excited to see me?” 

She pinches her lips together. “Leave me alone,” she says, smiling as I near my face to hers. “You know I can’t control them. They’re always like that.” 

I reach between us and hold one of her breasts, feeling her hard nipple through the material of the t-shirt. “Because I turn you on,” I say. “All the time.” 

“Sure,” she says, and smiles against my lips when I kiss her. “Don’t think you got out of doing that onion. No amount of amazing kisses could make me forget that,” she says. 

“Damn it,” I say, skulking back over to my chopping station. 

We work in silence for a few moments, the sounds in the kitchen being a mixture of her music, the sauce bubbling, and the repetitive chopping of my knife. I turn and see April deeply concentrated as she stands on tiptoes by the spice shelf, getting something down that I can’t see. She brings it back over to where she’s working and sprinkles it on the chicken, pleased with herself. 

“You’re cute,” I say, chuckling. 

She looks up, surprised at the sound of my voice. She smiles, asking, “What makes you say that?” 

I shrug, looking back down at the cutting board with a smile on my face. “Just are,” I say. 

I blink back tears as I finish up with the onion, bagging the rest of it and washing my hands vigorously after dumping the dices into the sauce. My job is complete, which means I can get my hands back on my wife.

I run my fingers up her arms and she giggles lightly, shimmying her hips. “You’re giving me goosebumps,” she says, turning her head. 

I see that she’s right. The light hair on her arms is standing on end, so I rub my hands on her skin to calm it down. “Let the sauce simmer for a while,” I say. “And the chicken will be in the oven for what, thirty minutes? That’s plenty of time.” 

She smirks, though she tries not to. “I’m very busy,” she says. 

“You’re not…” I murmur, curling a tiny bit of hair behind her ear. I kiss the corner of her jaw and she relaxes against my chest while I sneak my hands inside the Harvard t-shirt to rest on her stomach. “Couch?” I ask. 

She nods, so I flip her around and lift her up - her bare legs wrapped tight around my waist as I walk us to the couch a few feet away. Her hair fans out around her head when I place her on the cushions, and the shirt rides halfway up her stomach as I get comfortable between her legs. 

While still lying down, she works on getting the shirt off, but I make it hard by sticking my head inside the billowy material and joining her. She cracks up, tightening her thighs on my hips and throwing her head back in wild laughter. “You appear to be in my shirt,” she says, touching my neck with cold fingertips. 

“Technically,  _ my _ shirt,” I say, still speaking while under a blanket of gray. 

“Doesn’t wanting to have sex with me because I’m wearing your clothes make you a narcissist?” she asks, teasing me as she tips her head to one side. 

“Maybe,” I say, finally helping her out of it so she’s wearing just the navy blue underwear. “Or maybe it makes my wife super hot. Either one. Probably both.” 

She giggles again, showing all of her teeth as she scrunches her chin to her chest. I kiss the top of her ribcage, gripping the swell of her hip in one hand as she keens under me, already turned on. 

I smile to myself, loving what I’m able to do to her. It’s chauvinistic and possessive, but I love that I’m the only one who’s ever been with her like this, and the only one who ever will. I don’t share that thought, but it crosses my mind often. I was her first and I’m her only - I’m the only lucky bastard who gets to come home and find her in my college t-shirt, looking perfect as ever. I must’ve done something right along the way to be the one she loves. 

I move up from her ribcage, closing my mouth over the round of her small breast. She takes in a sharp inhale and touches my head, moving her fingers to stroke the back of my neck as I draw my tongue over her nipple. 

Pulling back, I look and see that it’s pink and puckered from the attention I’ve given it. I keep my hand on her other breast, running my thumb over that nipple and feeling it harden to a peak in response. She presses her lips together and lets out a tiny whimper, situating her hips under my weight.

I move away from the moist nipple and pull the dry one between my lips, sufficiently wetting it as I graze my teeth over the tip. She gasps and her hips rise to collide with mine, grazing my erection along the way. That only makes me suck harder, mouth wide open as I can fit most of her small breast inside it. 

Her breath comes shakily, and I can hear her smile as she takes my wrist and moves it between her legs. “I’m going crazy…” she says, widening her thighs.

“What, you don’t want me to make you come with nipple play?” I ask, pressing sporadic, deliberate kisses around her chest and the places I’ve dampened with my saliva.

She shakes her head. “They hurt,” she says. “They’re so hard they hurt.” 

“Now you know how I feel,” I say, rubbing her over the material of her panties. 

“Oh, your life is so difficult,” she says, managing a smile as her eyebrows raise and she jerks against my working hand. “How will you live to see tomorrow?” 

“I might not, if you keep being so sexy,” I say, kissing below her bellybutton. 

“Aw,” she says. “I’ll miss you.”

“So, you admit it,” I say, deftly pushing my middle finger between her folds, over her underwear still. “You’re sexy.” 

She laughs, lifting her pelvis a bit. “I’ll say whatever you want if you keep touching me like that.” 

I grow even harder in my pants as I continue to touch her. “Jesus, April,” I say. “You’re wet.” 

“Easy to do when I have you for my husband,” she says, knowing that her words kill me.

I’m hers. She’s mine. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. We’re a couple, we’re married. We can come home from the craziness at the hospital and have sex every day, if we want to. And we definitely want to. We can have sex at the hospital, if we feel the need. We’re married. We can do what we want without having to please anyone but each other.

I smile, pulling her underwear off and laying them on the back of the couch. I hold her thighs as I connect my mouth with her core, and relish the sounds she makes. I part her folds with my thumbs and slip my tongue inside her easily from how aroused she is, and she throws her head back to expose her pretty neck. 

No one else will ever see her like this, completely unwound. Only me. 

Her back lifts from the cushions as her hips oscillate, trying to find friction from my teeth and tongue. “April,” I murmur, lips moving against her. 

“Yeah?” she says, breathlessly. “Can you breathe? Are you-are you okay?” 

I smile. “I’m fine,” I say. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re the hottest woman to ever live.” 

Her skin flushes even pinker than it already was, and I don’t give her a chance to respond before going at her again. I lick her outer lips slowly, nudging my nose inside her when she positions herself right, then grazing my teeth over her tiny bundle of nerves. 

“Yes,” she breathes, biting her lip and holding onto my head to push me deeper. “Jackson...” 

“Hmm...” I hum, my voice vibrating right against her. “Right there, baby girl?” 

A smile ghosts her lips as she nods, eyes still closed. She’s so close to coming, and she wants it so bad. I know what’ll push her over - words. It’s always words. 

“You taste so good,” I say, pushing two fingers deep inside her. “So good. You taste so sweet, April.”

Her mouth falls open, the smile vanished as she gets even closer. I use my thumb to rub tight circles over the electricity inside her, then it happens. Watching her twitch and jerk with my fingers still pumping inside her practically makes me come without having to touch my dick. She’s so sexy when she succumbs to her body, it’s a beautiful thing to watch. I’ll never get tired of it, I know that for a fact. 

As her hips continue to writhe, she pulls me up by my shoulders to kiss me on the mouth - hot and lasting. She’s completely naked under me and I’m still fully dressed, which I quickly change. I try and undo the buttons on my chest, but my hurried fingers fumble and don’t do any good. 

She giggles, reaching to help. “Let me,” she says. “Your fingers are too chunky.” 

I watch her work, admiring her face and her quick hands. “And yours are perfect,” I say, taking her wrists and lifting her hands to my mouth, kissing her fingertips slowly. 

She lets out a shaky breath and strokes my chin, then gets back to the buttons. Once my shirt is off, she runs her fingers over my chest while I shimmy out of my pants, and once I’m naked, without much warning, I push my way inside her body. 

Her muscles stretch to welcome me, and a long moan tumbles from her mouth. “So good…” she sighs, meeting me thrust-for-thrust. Her body is familiar; soft and responsive, warm and smooth. Her body is the best thing I’ve ever known, it’s the thing I know the best - inside and out. Her body is my safe haven. She’s my sanctity, she’s what I come home to after a horrible day at the hospital and forget every worry I’ve ever harbored. 

“Baby…” I whisper, kissing her neck as my pelvis continues to move rhythmically. 

“Yeah?” she replies, equally as breathless. 

I smile to myself, skimming my hand across her breast, over the slope of her waist, then down to grip her ass. “I love you,” I murmur. “Just wanted to tell you I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she says, hugging my shoulders as tightly as she can. 

We continue to move in tandem with each other, getting good at the partnership that marriage creates. I know that moving slowly is a treat for her when we have the time, so I don’t rush the momentum. I move slowly with control, watching as her body scoots up the cushions each time I bury myself within her - up to the hilt. Her breasts bounce, and her nipples darken as she gets closer and closer to release. 

She knows that soft touches are what do it for me. I do love it when she gets bossy in bed, but when her gentle fingertips dance over the back of my head as I’m moving inside her, I can barely contain myself. The reminder of how gentle yet powerful she is sends me reeling. 

“I’m gonna have to pull out,” I grunt, pressing my forehead against her collarbone as I feel my groin tightening. It’s going to happen soon. “Didn’t put on a condom.” 

“No,” she says, thighs tightening their grip on me. “No, stay.” 

I pick up my head and look into her eyes, and see they’re crystal clear. She swipes her fingers over the curve of my ears and rests her hands on either side of my neck, meeting my gaze soberly. 

“Seriously?” I ask. “Are you sure? You could…” I furrow my eyebrows. “We could get pregnant.” 

“Maybe,” she says, ghosting her hands down over the slopes of my shoulders. “Would that be such a bad thing?” 

I close my eyes as I’m riddled with emotion. I can’t help but picture our baby - a perfect mixture of the two of us. She would inherit April’s brilliance, my perseverance, both of our ambition. She would be perfect. We would make a perfect child. 

We will make a perfect child. 

I kiss my wife with all I’ve got, and she digs her fingernails into my sides. “Come for me,” she murmurs, lips moving against the side of my head. “Come on, baby.” 

Her words send me over. I jerk inside her, as deep as I can go, and she opens her mouth in a loud gasp as I spill everything into her body. She moans as she feels the warmth spread, and digs her nails in rougher, desperate for her own orgasm. I give it to her by not pulling out, not yet, and hitting the angle that I know will do it. It doesn’t take her long. 

We’re both messy when it’s over, and she lies there spread-eagle on the couch, sticky and spent. Her ribs show through her skin with every exhale, and she throws an arm to rest on her forehead with a loud sigh. 

I leave to get a cloth to clean us off with, and when I come back she has my Harvard t-shirt back on. I would usually protest her getting dressed so quickly after, but if it’s that shirt, I don’t have much to say. I love seeing it on her. 

I wipe the warm, wet cloth between her legs and clean off what I left, and she keeps breathing heavily where she lies. 

“Dinner,” she finally says, gathering herself. “Chicken must be close.” 

She picks up her underwear from the back of the couch and slips them back on. I can still see the wet stain in the crotch, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. 

“I’m gonna go change,” I say, holding up my work clothes that had been in a pile on the living room floor. “Be back.” 

When I reenter the kitchen, April doesn’t look at me at first. She’s too concentrated on getting the chicken out of the oven. But when she does turn to me, her face breaks in a wide grin and she smacks the countertop before sauntering over.

“What in the world are you doing?” she practically sings, plucking at the shirt I’m wearing.

It’s red, it says ‘Ohio State’ on it in loopy cursive, and it fits me like a crop top. It also happens to be hers. 

“You wear my college t-shirt, I wear yours,” I say. “It’s only fair.” 

Her fingers crawl up my bare abdomen and she slaps me softly on the chest. “You’re stretching it out,” she says. “We can get you a bigger one, you know.” 

I scoff, wrapping my arms low on her waist. “But why would I rep any other school than Harvard outside this house?” I ask, nudging her nose with my own. 

“Because you love me,” she says, sweetly. 

“Oh, yeah,” I say, pulling her hips closer so they’re flush against mine. “That’s true.” 


End file.
